


How Many Times?

by Deannie



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen, Humor, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Peter's 35th birthday, Winston finally notices something odd...</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Times?

>

Winston Zeddemore sat on his bed in the early morning hours. His thoughts accompanied by the snores that filled the firehouse bunkroom, he bent to his task, deeply missing the one snore he couldn't hear...

 

> November 2, 2001
> 
> Dear Diary,
> 
> Well, Pete's 35th birthday came off just like all the other ones. I wonder that he's made it so long. He's going to be okay, though--after another couple of blood transfusions.
> 
> We've got to get Janine to scope out these clients better--what sounded like a simple class five was a class eight demon from hell when we got there. From hell, with claws and teeth, and... And all of them, as always, seemed to be aimed right at Pete.
> 
> Egon nearly bought it too, though--not that you'd notice tonight. He's sleeping away, now he knows Pete's going to make it, and you'd never know to look at him that a demon almost ate him for breakfast.
> 
> Time for me to catch some sleep now. Tomorrow's just another day of busting, and it seems like they come more and more every year.

 

He dropped his pen on the bedside table, listening to Ray whimper slightly in his sleep. Kid would be having nightmares for a week after this one. Not because of the demon--no, Ray thought that was _great_ \--but because Pete had been hurt, once again. God... how many times did that happen? How many times did they go into a bust, thinking it'd be an easy capture, and come away wondering whether Peter Venkman would last the night?

How many times...?

He flipped through his diary idly. It covered the last two years, and stood now, nearly full with their escapades...

 

> October 25, 2000
> 
> Dear Diary,
> 
> Well, Pete's made it another year--though how, I don't know. Seems like he's spent half of his 35 years being the punching bag for every ghost, demon, and mega-spectre in this or any other dimension....

 

Winston stared.

A niggling fear running down his spine, he turned back farther, and read...

 

> October 31, 1999
> 
> Dear Diary,
> 
> It's a wonder Peter's made it to 35...

 

Thirty-five. How often did a guy turn 35, anyway?

Keeping quiet, keeping his hands from shaking, Winston crept downstairs and headed for the bottom shelf of the second bookshelf. It had filled, over the years, with his journals, a sort of living document of the Ghostbusters' lives.

A document that, for some reason, no one ever read.

Clenching his jaw, Winston did just that...

*********

Egon Spengler was surprised to see that he wasn't the first person up. Winston rarely rose before him... And certainly not on days like today.

Yesterday had been... well, far too close for comfort.

Still, Peter was recuperating, and Egon would, as always, spend every moment of the hospital's meager visiting hours at his bedside. Given Peter's injuries this time, it was entirely likely he'd only sit there and watch the psychologist sleep.

Walking down to the second floor, he was struck by Winston, sitting in seeming shock on the couch.

"Winston?" he asked quietly, coming up behind the other man carefully. "Are you all right?"

"No, man," Winston breathed. "I really don't think I am."

The stunned quality to his voice led Egon to take a seat next to him, looking in consternation at the piles of bound, hand-written pages that surrounded the older man.

"Egon?" Winston asked quietly, still that distant quality to his voice. "Man, how old is Peter?"

Egon took a moment. Winston _seemed_ lucid. "Thirty-five, Winston. He--"

"Just had his birthday yesterday. Right." The black man played with the edge of one tome. "And me? How old would you say I am?"

"Winston?"

"How old!?"

Taken aback by the other man's vehemence, Egon answered quickly. "Forty."

"And..." Winston seemed to be expending a great deal of effort. "I was a medic in Vietnam, right?"

"Yes." Egon wished he knew where this was going. Could Winston be suffering some sort of hallucinations? He seemed to be having trouble grasping reality at the moment. "Toward the end of the war. You did one tour."

"Depending on who you read."

Winston's non sequitir was puzzling, but somehow, Egon felt it better to keep silent for the moment. If Winston's hold on reality was slipping, there was always the possibility he could become... violent.

"So, let's say I was a medic in 1973, okay?" Winston didn't even seem to notice the cautious nod Egon gave him. "And now I'm forty?" Again, Egon nodded. "So that made me how old when I was in country?"

"You went over when you were 18, Winston," Egon told him. He put a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "Winston, I think maybe we'd better--"

The vet threw off the physicist's hand, turning to him. "Egon, do the math for me, please! 2001, I'm 40, 1973, I'm 18!?"

Egon threw him a very puzzled look. "Winston, I don't understand what--"

"You probably don't, man--I sure didn't." He picked up a diary, seemingly at random, and began to read: "November 10, 1995. Peter's got to have more lives than a cat. That's the only way I can figure he's made it to 35."

Egon felt the intensity of Winston's stare, but he was at a loss to understand its meaning. 1995... "That was the year Peter and Ray were trapped in the warehouse in Brooklyn--the year he broke both legs."

"Yeah," Winston agreed, an almost unstable fire burning faintly in his eyes. "Broke both his legs on his 35th birthday." He picked up another. "October 21, 1997. We celebrated Pete's 35th where we seem to celebrate all his birthdays--in the ER at St. Vincent's." At Egon's blank look, he slammed the volume down hard on the coffee table and shot to his feet.

"How many times, Egon?" He shook a finger at his friend, and the physicist slid back on the couch. Winston... was becoming truly irrational. "How many times is it going to happen!?"

"How many times is _what_ going to happen?" Egon risked.

Winston grabbed up a handful of the worn journals, slamming each down as he named them. "1989, 1992, 1994, 1997! Egon! Pete's been 35 for _thirteen_ years!"

Egon just stared.

"And do you _know_ how many times he's been possessed?" He rushed on without waiting for answer. "And all the time he's spent in the hospital! You couldn't pack it all into 35 years--if he started as a _babe_!" He grabbed Egon's shoulders, pulling him up to his feet and shaking him. "HOW MANY TIMES!?"

Egon barely heard Ray come up behind them, but the occultist's hand on Winston's arm was enough to get the vet to let Egon go. One look at Ray's calm, compassionate face, and Winston crumbled, dropping despondently to the couch.

Egon watched as Ray tried to soothe him, watched as Winston mumbled that same phrase over and over... How many times... How many times...

The physicist shook his head sadly, heading for the phone in the kitchen. He'd always wondered if, one day, one of them might snap...

But he had never, ever thought it would be Winston...

* * *  
The End


End file.
